


Little Red

by Noelleian



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Little Red Riding Hood Fusion, Blood, Dark, Horror, M/M, Mild Gore, Shapeshifting, Smut, Violence, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-25 10:52:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9816674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noelleian/pseuds/Noelleian
Summary: Quatre makes the journey to his grandmother's cabin in the woods, armed with only a red cape and a basket of food. It doesn't take long for him to realize that something is terribly wrong and that his gran is not exactly who she says she is.A retelling of Little Red Riding Hood ~ In smutty GW style because why tf not?





	1. La Revedere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jess_eklom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_eklom/gifts), [SoftNocturne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftNocturne/gifts), [Moreena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moreena/gifts).



> So this will be in two parts. My goal is to create a surreal type story with a wacky mix of horror, humor, crack, smut, and whatever else my brain decides to do in part two. 
> 
> I warn you now, the end of this first chapter is graphically violent so if you're easily squicked, either hit the 'back' button, or just don't read the very end of this chapter. There will be dubcon in the second chapter, though I'm not sure what else, but if anything else comes up, I will warn for it. This is not a beastiality story. There will be no animal-on-human sex. That's not my bag, so no worries there lol. This will be a twoshot.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.

Quatre could certainly understand the need to bring his Jidd her food. She was well into her nineties and could no longer get around like she used to. She’d already sold her 1989 Buick Cutlass to, “A nice young man who would have a much easier time finding a girl if he wasn’t covered in those devilish tattoos.” **  
**

It seemed his grandmother was on an endless to quest to make sure that every “nice young man” she encountered would meet a "respectable” girl and settle down and Quatre was no exception. She was dead set on marrying him off and had no qualms about guilt-tripping him with the woes of her declining health.

“I’m not too long for this world now, habibi,” she would tell him, resting her wrinkled old hand on top of his during afternoon tea. “It’s my job to make sure you are settled down with a respectable girl.” Her hand would shake as she lifted her tea cup to her lips, her watery brown eyes twinkling in amusement and a trace of warning. “Are you going to leave your sweet Jidd hanging on her deathbed with no wedding, or great grandchildren?”

Allah, how he hated to disappoint her every time she asked him if he’d met a girl yet and was forced to see the dejection in her eyes when he told her no. The problem was, he just wasn’t into girls. It wasn’t the soft, pillowy swell of female breasts that had his mouth watering, the flirtatious batting of long eyelashes, or the sensuous curve of wide hips that made his dick harder than steel. It wasn’t the thought of making love to a woman that motivated his trembling fingers to wrap around his cock in the darkness of his bedroom at night.

It was the thick sinew of masculine power and dominance. The stretch of smooth skin over hard muscle, the slight scrape of a five o’clock shadow, and the deep rumble of a male voice burring sweet nothings into his ear. The heady vibration of a man moaning with pleasure as Quatre took him deep into his throat.

He wanted to be thrown down, pinned beneath a virile body while the rugged scent of sweat and musk wafted beneath his nose. He wanted to feel the scratch of stubble against his neck and the tickle of hot breath laced with whiskey and mint. None of that pussy shit either, but _real_ whisky. The kind that put hair on your chest and stripped the paint off your car.

He dreamed of surrendering to his fantasy man, shyly parting trembling thighs and exposing himself to the ravenous gaze of his conqueror. He dreamed of hands, big and callused and stained with motor oil, manhandling him onto his belly. Pulling him open with fingers that dug painfully into the soft flesh of his buttocks. And he dreamed of the air being forced from his lungs as the heavy weight of his lover’s body descended onto his back and a cock that was surely too big, sought entry into his most coveted place.

But of course he couldn’t tell his Jidd that. In her world, men were never subservient. They didn’t allow themselves to be dominated and plundered. A man who permitted such things was a dishonor to his family. In his culture, it wasn’t all that long ago that people were hung for far lesser crimes than sodomy.

Besides, the poor woman already had both feet in the grave and if that didn’t do her in, he didn’t know what would.

Lying and saying he had found a girl was out of the question. He knew without a doubt that his Jidd would insist on meeting her. He'd considered asking his friend Relena to play the part, but that was a pipe dream doomed to fail. Relena wasn’t a Muslim and in his Jidd’s eyes, that was nearly as bad as being gay.

So he endured the guilt and the forlorn look in his grandmother’s eyes when he let her down yet again and just hoped he could instead convince her that he was happy where he was for the time being. It would have to suffice because he wasn’t going to go against his own principles and put a girl through a relationship that could never be what she truly wanted, or deserved.

 

*******

 

“You’re going to take this food to your Jidd and help her cook her meal since she’s still having that sciatica in her hip.”  
  
Quatre lifted his chin from its resting place on his palm and watched his father pack rice, cooked lamb, spinach, oranges with honey, and a few containers of spices and sauce into a picnic basket. “You’re not coming?”  
  
“I have work today, Quatre. And since you don’t have class, you’ll have time to take this to her.”  
  
“You're going to drop me off at least, aren't you?”  
  
“No time,” Zayeed flipped the top of the basket closed and carried it over to the table, dropping it down in front of his son.  
  
“It’s a ten mile walk, father!”  
  
“Yeah, well. You’re young. Suck it up. Here.” Zayeed dropped a big bundle of red fabric on top of the basket and turned to leave.  
  
“What’s this?” He asked, unfolding the bundle.  
  
“Your mother’s cape. Figured it would help ward off the chill. It gets cold in the mountains and your Jidd phoned this morning and said it snowed last night.”  
  
“Wonderful,” he grumbled as he stood, slinging the cape over his arm and picking up the basket. “Will you be able to pick me up after work?”  
  
“We’ll see. Might have to work late,” Zayeed told him. His voice faded as he left the room and Quatre wagered by his tone that he would be walking home as well.

There went his plans of spending his day off binge-watching American Horror Story and lazy wanks on the couch.

“I suggest you get a move on,” Zayeed called from the bedroom. “You’ve got a lot of walking ahead of you.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” he mumbled, shuffling to the mudroom, shoulders slumped like a man condemned to a slow death in the gallows. He sat down on the built-in bench and pushed his feet into his hiking boots, bending down to tie the laces tight. It was bound to be muddy and damp in addition to the cold so the cleats on the bottom of his boots would be necessary to prevent an impromptu face plant and mud mask.  
  
Then again, his pores could use a little tending to.  
  
He lightly brushed the tips of his fingers across a cheekbone and glanced at his reflection in the mirror across from him. Judging by his painstakingly styled hair and the pink Marilyn Monroe t-shirt that spelled out, 'Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend' in rainbow-colored rhinestones, it was a wonder no one had put two and two together yet and figured out what a flaming poof he was.   
  
He stood up and shook out the cloak. Its open front had three metal clasps and on the back was a large hood. A niggling little part of his mind told him there was something oddly ironic about this, but damned if he could figure out what it was. He slipped it around his shoulders and did up the clasps before he pulled the hood over his head. Grabbing the picnic basket, he stuck his forearm beneath the handle and opened the door.  
  
The weather remained steadily chilled, damp, and foggy. More like March in London than July in Vermont, but who was he to question it? He stepped outside and walked through the sticky mud of the dirt and gravel driveway, staring longingly at his father’s Cadillac Escalade as he passed it.  
  
_Well, I guess I can look on the bright side. At least it’s exercise_. He wrapped the red cloak tighter around himself, feeling strangely self-conscious despite the lack of people around. Against the backdrop of the browns, grays, and deep green of pines and maples lining the woodland, he stuck out like a sore and bleeding thumb. _Oh, who am I kidding. This sucks donkey balls._  
  
He supposed his father had chosen the cape because it was so bright. Poachers would be hard pressed to mistake him for a deer, or elk. Unfortunately, it also made him visible to creatures that he didn’t particularly want to be visible to.  
  
“Lions and tigers and bears, oh my.” He worked his way up a moderately steep incline, muttering an emphatic curse when his boot slipped a little on the wet edge of a rock. “More like mountain lions, bears, and wolves,” he amended.  
  
_Or perverts_ , his mind helpfully supplied. _You’ve seen Deliverance, haven’t you?_  
  
He groaned and rubbed his eyes, chiding his brain for going there. That was the last thing he needed. Finding a defenseless queer wandering alone in the woods would be like Christmas morning for a pack of inbred rednecks, tipsy on moonshine and loaded with shotguns.

Ten miles was a long way without running into someone. He just hoped whoever that "someone" was, didn't have pointy teeth...or a distinct lack thereof.

_Oh, knock it off, you drama queen. This is Vermont, not the fucking Outback. The scariest thing you're apt to run into is a nest of rabid squirrels._

He hummed as he popped an orange wedge into his mouth. "I'll bet there are some good rabid squirrel stories from the locals. I'll have to ask one sometime," he mused as he passed by the clearing and disappeared into the dark canopy of the forest. "That is, if I make it home alive."

 

*******

 

Trowa Barton stared at the tiny log cabin from his spot behind the tall hedges which lined the perimeter of the old hag’s property. Pale gray smoke curled up from the top of the chimney and his enhanced olfactory senses detected a hint of strong coffee and the sweet aroma of freshly baked bread.

He’d been stalking the old bitty for a few weeks now, waiting for the opportune moment to pounce and rip her throat open. He wasn’t typically one for grudges, but ever since she’d chased him away from her chicken coop, brandishing a broom which she repeatedly thwacked him on the head with, he’d been unable to let it go.

He’d been a newly transformed wolf then, cold and starving after his first shift into an unfamiliar body which predictably didn’t go all that well. At first, he was slow and ungraceful, unaccustomed to walking on four legs, not to mention the strange new experience of being so close to the ground. He’d failed to catch himself a meal and by the fourth day, he was lost in the forest and desperate for warmth and food.

He’d stumbled upon the cabin with legs as shaky and awkward as a newborn calf, but the chicken wire was no match for his powerful jaws and razor sharp teeth. The real challenge was trying to catch one of the little bastards after they inevitably went into a frenzy as soon as they sensed his proximity.

His clumsy limbs were too slow for the hysterical flurry of panicked chickens and for a few minutes, he’d only managed to snag a mouthful of feathers while his sensitive ears twitched painfully from the loud screeching. After ten humiliating minutes, he finally caught one by the tail and began to back out of the pen when he was struck on the backside. It startled him more than hurt and his shock forced him to let go of his meal.

“Get away from my hennies, you flea-infested vermin!”

Vermin? _Fleas?_

He’d growled and snapped at the old woman who swung her broom, smacking the bristled end against his snout with surprising strength. He'd attempted a lunge, but amazingly, the old bitty spun the broom with the agility of a ninja and jabbed the wooden end into his chest hard enough to actually hurt.

Unable to get a bead on her with his body in the condition that it was, he retreated from the standoff, back into the woods with his tail between his legs. Thankfully, he was able to get himself a rabbit only a short time later.

When he transitioned back to his human form after that embarrassing first time fiasco, he was covered in rabbit blood and naked as a jaybird. By the time he found his pack, he was too exhausted to care much about the snickers over his undignified state.

It wasn’t like they had any room to laugh. They’d all gone through their first time, too, and he was willing to bet their experiences were just as mortifying as his was.

At the moment, he was in his default human form, but he could already feel the telltale signs of impending transformation, fueled by his need for vengeance. Though he typically refrained from eating humans...honestly, they were stringy and bland...today’s menu featured one crotchety old woman with a side of broom.

Revenge is a dish best served cold, his furry ass.

In the short time that he'd come into his shapeshifting, he'd finally mastered the ability to transform at will and was no longer under the influence of the moon phases. Fucking Christ, was that a relief. 

He bit down into his tongue as the throbbing ache in his jaw became more noticeable, trying to muffle the soft moan of pain. He didn’t want to alert the old bitch to his presence just yet. His limbs twitched and convulsed, the joints popping in his knees and hips, turning towards the backs of his legs which allowed him to leap in ways he could not in his human form. His fingers curled into fur-covered toes and claws pushed through the sensitive skin at the tip of each one, sharp as razors and twice as deadly.

The worst part was the excruciating pain in his face as the bones and cartilage shifted and elongated, forming a long, pointed snout. His eyes moved further down and to the sides while his ears were pulled up towards the top of his head. Finally, his teeth extended into two rows of gleaming points designed to rip and tear flesh with ease.

While his human form possessed enhanced sense of smell and hearing, those senses were even more honed in this one, though the quality of his eyesight was reduced to a colorless world of blacks, whites, and shades of gray. But he didn’t need his eyes. In this body, scent and sound were more than enough to hunt blindly if necessary.

Now, he was stronger. Even more graceful and powerful than he could ever hope to be as a human. What a difference only two months could make.

A chill began just at the tip of his nose and traveled down the length of his spine like a bolt of electricity, manifesting as a full body shake that evened out the thick black and gray fur that covered every inch of his skin. His left ear piqued and twitched at the flurry of clucks and feathers from the chicken coop just on the other side of the hedges. He sniffed the air, eyes rolling in their sockets as he caught a whiff of their fear, carried along by the cold breeze. Today, they were fortunate. Today, he had a different target.

He loped down the length of the hedges, leaving paw prints in the snow-covered ground. He rounded the edge, scaling the side of the cabin with silent padding of his feet until he reached the front. He jumped up the three steps without even touching them and approached the door. Raising a fore paw, he scratched at the wood with a pitiful whine, his claws leaving behind faint gouges in the bright red paint.

“Who’s that?”

_Scratch...whine._

“Is that you, habibi?”

_Habibi?_

_Scratch...whine._

“Hasn’t your father taught you how to knock?”

_Just answer the door, you old bitch so we can get on with it._

Finally, his ears registered a soft shuffle, getting closer to the door. “What is it with kids these days? This generation and its lack of manners, deary me.”

_No, ma’am. No kids here. Just a hungry wolf in need of a meal and I must say, while you smell more like fruitcake and Bengay and will probably taste even worse, this will be one of the most satisfying lunches I’ve ever had. Now, open the door, or I'll huff and I'll puff..._

He heard the distinct click of locks and a moment later, the door swung open. “Honestly, Quatre. If I ever get the chance to -”

She stared down in shock at the two hundred thirty pound wolf perched on her homemade butterfly ‘Welcome’ mat, eyes widening in horror as the beast’s lips curled back, exposing gleaming pointed teeth in a macabre grin. Its demonic green eyes glinted in the muted gray light with the promise of bloody demise.

Trowa could see the dawning realization in her own eyes. The dreadful knowledge that Death was on her doorstep and this time, it was a one-way trip. There were going to be no negotiations, no begging, no thirty day money back guarantees. She knew that as instinctively as she knew there was a wolf at her door.

_...And I'll blow your house in._

“Oh - oh, my...”

_Hello, you old hag. Did you miss me?_

She gasped and stumbled back, fumbling frantically for the door, no doubt to slam it in his face, but this time, _he_  had the upper hand.

And revenge couldn't be sweeter.

He lunged, throwing the closing door wide open, his fore paws landing square onto her chest and knocking her flat onto her back. Her wrinkled old fists were no match for him, though she fought with what little strength she possessed within her feeble body.

With a low growl, he closed his jaws around her throat, waiting for sweet hiss of defeat from her trembling lips, and then he bit down. His teeth pierced through her paper-thin skin and deep into the flesh, severing her jugular vein. The sound of her gurgles as she choked on her own blood was music to his ears. Her blood tasted like copper and age, an entire lifetime of experiences, joy, and hardships.

When he thought about it, he was probably doing her a favor. He pulled at the flesh in his mouth, jerking his jaw away from her neck and taking her throat with him. The blood spewed from the gaping wound in a fountain of crimson, spraying the walls as her heart frantically tried to continue pumping to keep her alive. Her clouded eyes rolled back into her head, despite her best efforts to cling to consciousness. The blood filled her mouth and spilled from the corners, rolling down the wrinkled jowels of her cheeks and onto the floor beneath her. To Trowa’s colorblind eyes, it looked more like black tar.

He watched the progression of death with a strange sense of detachment, listening to the rattle of her body shutting down organ by organ until she became silent and still. The scent of blood in the air was intoxicating and his nostrils flared, inhaling the sweet tang of copper.

_Not by the hair of your chinny chin chin? Well, who's laughing now, you old bat?_

The adrenaline of the kill was euphoric. It made him feel drugged like the otherworldly high of an opiate. He tipped his head towards the ceiling, unleashing a howl that vibrated the walls of the old cabin and scattered the nearby wildlife, sending them running for cover.

His cock extended from within its hood, erect and in dire need to mate. Once he got back to his pack, he would find a willing body to release the coiled up tension in his groin. For now, he needed sustenance. He lowered his head and sniffed the cooling corpse of his meal, then he began to eat.


	2. Bună Ziua

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this part gets a little dicey when it comes to some problematic shit. There is strong dubcon and elements of noncon as well as abduction and forced captivity. Case in point, Trowa's a bit...unhinged...so there's your warning. To be fair, though, who wouldn't be in a circumstance like his?
> 
> Oh, and both characters are above the age of consent. There's no actual "kid" in this story. Just figured I should throw that out there.

There was something oddly satisfying about being sprawled on a virtual stranger’s sofa while in your wolf body, flipping through television channels, and picking your victim’s flesh out of your teeth with a sliver of the same broom handle that was nearly shoved up your ass a couple months ago. **  
**

It had taken a little trial and error to get a good enough grip on the sliver of wood. Being that his paws lacked opposable thumbs, it was quite a challenge to keep his hold on it, but he wasn’t ready to change back to his normal form just yet. His tail swished and smacked idly against the foot of the couch as he surfed through the channels from one talk show to a soap opera, and then to another talk show, cursing the dead woman in the other room for not having the decency to invest in cable television like a normal person.

_God, I hate daytime TV._

He glanced around at the interior of the living room, noting with distaste the gaudy floral wall paper and tacky velvet drapes trimmed with lace. Trowa figured the old bitty was going for Victorian decor, but she'd failed on multiple levels. There was the usual display of generic paintings mounted on the walls, but no Rembrandt's to write home about. The old cheapskate probably acquired them at some flea market, or another. In the corner of the room, there was an oblong table held up by the signature curve of Queen Anne style legs, painted white though the lacquer was peeling in places.

_That’s why you always sand the varnish off before you paint it, you stupid bitch._

On top of the table was a collection of photographs, each photo encased in gold and silver frames with a variety of different faces smiling at him from behind their glass covers. He rolled his body off the couch and walked over to the table, gazing at each of the pictures with mild interest.

Some looked quite old and he figured they were likely photos of the old hag herself, a little surprised that she'd been quite the looker in her younger days. In some, a tall regal man in a traditional Muslim thwab with a red and white keffiyeh on top of his head stood sternly beside her. In a few, he was seated in an ornately scrolled wooden chair while she stood just behind and to the side with her hands resting on his shoulders.

The photos seemed to be arranged in chronological order and as he looked further left, the couple was then photographed with an infant cradled in the woman’s arms. A little further and that infant had become a young child, but there was another infant, and then another, and then another.

_Fucking hell, how many rugrats did this bitch spawn?_

The next series of photos that were lined up in front of those were what Trowa assumed to be her children, fully grown and with young children of their own. There was a photo of a tall man, looking rather dapper in a three piece suit and mustache, surrounded by a horde of young women, all blonde beauties with radiant smiles. He got the sense that they were his daughters due to the fact that they all had similar features. He cringed at the thought of being surrounded by so many females at once. What a hot mess of hormones that must have been.

When he got to the middle of the collection, there was a new addition to the women in the photos. A young boy stood at the front in a pair of white shorts and a light colored t-shirt. He was just as blond as his sisters and had the same charming smile, but with the added cuteness of dimples in each cherubic cheek.

 _They all look like they’ve been carved out of cream cheese,_ he thought wryly.

The last set of photos lined the very front of the table, showing the young women older, some with their own children. By the time he reached the end, his heart skipped a beat as he came face to face with the young man whom he was certain was the little boy all grown up.

God, but he was a beauty. The familiar throb of arousal returned as he observed the photo, taking in every little detail. The young man was perched on the edge of what looked like a sailboat. He was quite slender looking, pretty for a male. His grin was wide as he held up a hand, seemingly waving to Trowa with those dimples displayed in cheeks that still had a touch of baby fat.

He stared, fascinated by the bewitching creature who smiled back at him with unabashed openness. The young man’s aura seemed to glow with an innocence that Trowa had never seen before in anyone of their age. Most young people nowadays had already become quite jaded by the world and he was no exception. This boy seemed so pure, so devoid of corruption.

Trowa was suddenly overcome by a tempting desire to change that. To corrupt and taint that sweet flesh and watch that beautiful face become wary by the burden of life. It was the ultimate sin and his cock extended again from within the safety of its hood, hard and desperately wanting to fuck.

He shifted back into his human form and swiped the photo with hands that trembled from the lust coursing through his veins. He took the picture with him as he went back to the couch, intent on jacking off to it, wanting to see his come splattered all over that angelic face. He’d already made up his mind that the photo was going home with him.

_So you’re a murderer and now you’re a creep. Keeping it classy, Tro._

Just as he was about to settle his bare ass on the sofa and take care of business, he caught whiff of a scent that he’d only got an inkling of since he’d been there. He knew it wasn’t the old woman, but the scent of someone who’d been there often, stronger now than the lingering traces left behind in the house.

His ears picked up the faint crunch of snow outside and his heart thumped in panic as he scrambled off the couch and over to the window. He peeked covertly through the drapes and spotted a figure, clad in a red cape approaching the front of the cabin. When the figure lifted its head, he saw that face...the exact same face in the photograph he was holding, brightened by the snow beneath him and even more beautiful in the flesh.

_Oh, shit! It’s him. It’s really him!_

But was he alone? Trowa peered into the surrounding forest and saw no sign of any vehicles, or other people. The boy did not appear armed either and his body sagged in relief as the possibility of trying to outrun a shotgun didn’t seem likely.

He watched as the young man got closer and ducked behind the curtain when sky blue eyes darted towards the window. When he glanced back, the boy was looking down as he mounted the steps. The handle of a picnic basket was wedged in the crook of his elbow and his delicately tapered fingers slid up the railing with each ascending step.

A jolt of wicked arousal shot up Trowa's spine like a bolt of lightning and he backed away from the window, taking careful steps backward until he reached the doorway to the small and femininely decorated bedroom. He glanced behind him at the frilly comforter and throw pillows scattered across the bed and made a quick snap decision, hoping against hope that this would go the way the plan was being enacted in his mind.

He could have this boy. Have him and then eat him afterwards to prevent him from ratting Trowa out, and then keep the photograph for a souvenir, a nostalgic reminder of his conquest. The authorities would be none the wiser when they found the mangled bodies and would just write it off as a vicious animal attack.

Decision made with no time to second guess, he launched himself onto the bed and yanked down the thick covers. He stuck his legs between the sheets and pulled the comforter up to his chin, then thought better of it and wrapped it around his head. The old woman had not opened the drapes in the bedroom so it would be difficult for the young man to see his attacker’s face in the murky darkness.

He heard a gentle knock at the front door, followed by a soft, “Jidd?”

_God, his voice! He sounds like the most beautiful music. Like a harp played by an angel among the clouds._

But how did he sound when he was screaming? Or weeping? Perverse as it may have been, _that_ was what Trowa wanted to hear. He took a moment to make sure his falsetto was right and then squeaked out, “Here! I’m here -”  _Shit, I don’t know his name_ “- Sonny!”

He could hear the turn of a door knob, followed by a _whoosh_ as the door opened and then the voice was louder, clearer. “Jidd? Are you alright?”

Trowa squeaked again and cleared his throat. “Y - yes, deary!” He winced as his voice cracked. _Fuck, he’s not going to fall for this unless he’s a complete idiot._ “I’m - I’m afraid I’ve become a bit downtrodden with this - this -” _God, how do old people talk?_   “- I’m afraid I’m a bit under the weather with this chill in the air.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, Gran. Summer colds are the worst.”

_Jesus, he is an idiot._

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

 _I just said I was, you little_ \- “Y - yes! Yes, I’m alright. I’ll be right as rain soon enough, I’m sure.”

Trowa watched the young man’s approach with the narrowed eyes of a predator. The kid had taken off the red cape and was now standing in the doorway to the bedroom. He was cast in silhouette thanks to the darkness, but Trowa could easily see the shape of his body clad in a t-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans. The boy was rather short, compact, but with a noticeable swell of hips that flared out from a tiny waist. His shoulders were narrow and his hair appeared longer than it was in the photo.

“Your voice sounds really bad, Jidd.”

 _Shut up, you little whelp_. “Yes, I know, dear.”

“Perhaps I should call your doctor?”

“No! No, no. I’ll be alright. I just need to rest for a few days.”

“Are you sure?”

 _Kid, if you ask me that one more time_ …”I’m sure, deary,” Trowa croaked and then added, “You know how much I hate seeing doctors.” _Fuck, I hope I’m right about that. Knowing my luck, the old bitch was a hypochondriac who jumped at every opportunity to see a doctor._

The boy laughed, a delightful sound, and Trowa breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes, I know. How about I fix you some tea and then I’ll get the Mashi going?”

 _Fuck the Mashi, whatever that is. I have something far tastier in mind._ “Oh, deary? Could you come a little closer so I can see you better? I dare say, I think you’ve grown.”

“Maybe a little.” Trowa’s heart banged against his rib cage as the young man stepped into the room, his sweet scent becoming stronger. “It’s so dark in here. I should open the drapes to let in some li - _ight!_ ”

Trowa reached out like a shark snagging a low-flying seagull and closed his arms around the boy once he got close enough, not even giving him the opportunity to open the drapes. He threw him down onto the bed and climbed on top, catching the flailing arms and pinning them over the kid’s head.

“Jidd! What are you - get off me!” Trowa lowered his head and waited for the young man’s eyes to adjust to the near darkness, grinning like the Cheshire cat as they widened in shock. “You're not Jidd!”

“No shit."

“Who are you? Where’s my Jidd?”

“Oh, she’s around here somewhere.” It was probably best not to tell him what had become of his grandmother just yet. He wanted to ravage the boy, but he preferred the boy to _want_ to be ravaged in favor of fucking an unwilling participant.

The sweetest of conquests were those who put up a fight, but eventually surrendered to their conqueror, unable to resist the carnal pleasure of being dominated. And this little morsel was the ultimate prize.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

He pressed the hard curve of his groin against the boy’s crotch and smiled as he heard the hitch of breath.

_Okay, he’s not as stupid as I’d originally thought._

The kid renewed his struggles, spitting curses as he tried to wrench his wrists out of Trowa’s grip. His feet thumped fruitlessly against the bed, but could gain no real leverage with Trowa’s legs clamped around his thighs. “No! Let me go! What did you do to my Jidd?!”

 _Alright, enough of this._ He lifted up just high enough to flip the young man over onto his belly which gave Trowa the advantage of being able to hold him down without the risk of getting a fist to the face. The kid soon realized that threats would not get him anywhere and his voice shifted to a more plaintive tone.

“Please, please let me go. I’ll give you anything you want -”

“Yes, you will,” Trowa informed him, curling his fingers into the thin fabric of the boy’s t-shirt. He yanked his arm back, ripping the shirt down the middle, and pulled the material out from under him, twisting it until it resembled a loose rope. He fumbled for the flailing hands and brought them together at the small of the boy’s back, quickly tying his bony wrists together with the remains of the shirt.

“Please,” the boy begged, panting into the comforter. “Please don’t do this. I don’t - if it’s money you want -”

“Don’t insult me, kid,” Trowa muttered, summoning a claw to cut through the thicker fabric of the denim jeans. Careful not to cut the young man’s skin, he drew a ragged line right down the middle and used both hands to rip away the rest. His mouth watered as the boy’s pert ass was exposed, resisting the urge to bend down and sink his teeth into a supple cheek.

“You got something against underwear?”

He couldn’t see it, but he was certain the kid was blushing profusely. “What do you want from me?”

“I thought it was obvious,” he said, and thanks to his keen senses, he could pick up traces of something underlying the powerful scent of fear. Something vinous and raw and he easily identified it as arousal. He leaned down and brushed his nose against the shell of the boy’s ear, inhaling deep. The kid whimpered, but the smell was even stronger now and Trowa’s lips curled back from his teeth in a shark-like grin. “I think you know exactly what I want and I think you’re not as opposed to it as you pretend you are.”

The boy didn’t answer, opting instead to bury his face in the comforter. Trowa lifted up and scooted further down, tearing the jeans off the young man’s tense legs. “Relax, kid. Just go with it, yeah?”

“Are you going to kill me when you’re done? Did you rape my Jidd?”

He recoiled in disgust. “God, no! What the fuck do you take me for?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

Trowa tipped his nose in the air and sniffed, “I’ll have you know that I do have standards.”

The boy shifted and raised his bound hands an inch off his back. “Can you untie me? I won’t fight you.”

Trowa stared down at his prey’s prone body. His human eyes, much more capable of picking out detail, had grown accustomed to the dark and the vision before him fueled the lust that burned within his loins. The boy’s skin was the color of rich cream and silky smooth. Narrow shoulders dipped into the sensuous curve of his back and waist and then flared out again with the erotic swell of hips. He had an ass that was so fuckable, it made Trowa dizzy with desire. "I don't think so."

“Then just do what you’re going to do and get it over with,” the kid muttered, his voice soft with defeat and half muffled in the plush fabric of the bedding.

Trowa moved down and wedged his knees into the space between the boy’s thighs, pushing outwards to spread them even more. He could hear the beat of the young man’s heart, fluttering erratically inside his chest and could smell the sweet tang of his blood as it pumped delicious adrenaline and pheromones through his veins.

He rested his palms against the soft flesh of the boy’s ass and dug his fingers in, his eyes closing as he savored the feel of those warm, supple cheeks in his hands. He squeezed and kneaded the luscious mounds, listening intently to the trembling mewls of his prey.

The boy’s hands twisted within their bonds, his fingers curling into fists. He was fighting his own impulses, his own desires, evident in the way his muscles tensed, relaxed, and then tensed again. The wall of resistance was crumbling and Trowa only needed to nudge him a little more before the floodgates of surrender were fully opened.

He parted the fleshy cheeks and lowered his head until his nose was only an inch from his prize. He breathed in the boy’s sweet musk, his eyes rolling back at the answering whimper. The temptation to taste overrode everything else and he pushed his face forwards, nosing between the cleft and licking a wet swath over the opening.

“Oh - oh, fuck...please. Please, I can’t I - let me go, please. I won’t say any - say anythi - oh, _Allah_ …” The boy’s pleas broke off with breathy moan, the pleasure of being eaten out melting away the last of his struggles. His body relaxed completely as he mewled into the mattress, humping against the bed with languid rolls of his hips. Trowa pressed closer, sucking at the boy’s rim and pushing his tongue past the tight resistance.

“Oh, G - oh, Allah,” the boy slurred through lax lips. He inched his thighs open even more in a wanton display of submission. “Oh, fuck. That feels so _good._ ”

Trowa pulled his mouth away with a loud, sucking sound and bit gently into a soft cheek. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, baby.” He held him open with one hand and brought his other down, circling the loosened opening with the tip of his finger. He spread the saliva around and then he pressed inside. The tight heat and the sudden tenseness of the boy’s body rippled around him in a mindless, velvety grip. He groaned into a quivering buttock, grinding his cock into the bedding as he listened to the young man cry out and lose himself to the pleasure.

He drove his finger in deeper and curled it, rubbing the tip against the boy’s prostate and relished the full-body shudder that resulted from the stimulation. He dipped his head back down and added his tongue, licking at the apex of their joining. The boy’s hips pumped frantically against the bed, his breath coming harder and faster. He garbled out a, “Oh, fuck...fuck, I’m - I’m gonna c -” And the rest dissolved into a reedy cry as his hips shook and lost their rhythm.

Trowa could smell his orgasm, as sweet and full of life as the blood in his prey's veins. He flipped him onto his back and devoured what still clung to the boy's belly and cock, sending him into a frenzy of overstimulation.

“Oh, please,” he panted. “It’s too much... _stop_.” He twisted one way and then the other, trying to dislodge Trowa’s mouth from his groin, but Trowa pinned his hips to the bed and sucked the softening cock between his lips. The boy let out a sob of agony and blubbered incoherently. His body convulsed as he tossed his head back and forth, begging for reprieve.

Only his pleas were in vain because Trowa had no intention of letting up. He sucked harder, forcing the cock in his mouth to harden again, pulling off once it was straining up from between the boy’s legs and clear liquid drooled from the tip. “That’s better,” he hummed and sat up, looking around the room for something that could be used for lube and spotted a jar of Vaseline on the dresser. It wasn’t the best option, but it was better than nothing.

He climbed off the bed, leaving his prey panting and desperate, and swiped the jar. He popped the lid off, dug his index and middle fingers into the goop, and scooped out a generous amount before placing the jar back on the dresser. The boy’s eyes glittered with desire, his knees bending towards the ceiling and thighs parting wide as Trowa approached him.

“Take me,” he whispered breathlessly, acquiescence visible in the arch of his back and the tremble of his lips. “Take me, please. I’m -”

“Oh, I will,” Trowa assured him. At this point, nothing could stop him. He rubbed the Vaseline over his cock and knelt onto the bed, crawling between the splayed legs. The boy gazed up at him, his doe eyes wide and pleading. Trowa skimmed his hands over soft calves and then dipped them down to grasp quivering thighs. He hoisted them up to his shoulders and leaned over, propping himself up on one hand and used the other to guide his cock towards his prize.

Gentle was not the name of the game. The boy’s introduction to sex would not be with soft, tender lovemaking. It would be rough thrusts and bruising grips, animalistic fucking on the darkest, most carnal level. He circled the tip of his cock around the opening and then shoved in all the way, his eyes fluttering closed from the tight squeeze of resistance and the exquisite scream of pain that echoed off the walls.

The boy choked and gasped as he worked his cock in deep, pulling out and forcing his way back in again, dicking him into the mattress with quick brutal slaps of his hips against the soft cheeks of his ass.

The boy’s body flexed beneath him, overwhelmed with the fiery burn of ruthless penetration, and tried to push him out by bearing down. The only thing it accomplished was enhancing Trowa’s pleasure with the rippling clutch of internal muscles. Trowa grunted with exertion, eyes rolling towards the ceiling as he plunged his cock into the hot squeeze of paradise. When the boy’s resistance intensified with kicking legs and thrashing torso, Trowa grabbed him by the backs of his knees and shoved his legs down against the bed, pinning them in place and effectively holding him immobile.

The boy was beyond words, weeping nonsense into the muggy air of the room, but Trowa had no difficulty growling words of degradation at his helpless prey as he bounced the kid’s body back and forth across the bed. Amazingly, the abject filth spilling from his mouth coupled with the repeated press of his cock against the boy’s prostate seemed to do the trick and within minutes, his prey was limp and rolling with the force of the thrusts.

“That’s right. Take it, you little slut. How’s that dick feel inside you, hmm?” He watched with wicked satisfaction as the young man’s back bowed, his tousled head tipping back to expose a delicate, swan-like neck. The porcelain column of flesh was pulsing with life and passion and it triggered Trowa’s teeth to extend into their wolfish points. He shut his eyes tight, willing the beast inside away before he gave into the temptation to sink those teeth into the vulnerable throat.

Once he felt he had himself under control, he opened his eyes again and gazed down at his prey, watching the muscles of the young man's toned abdomen tighten. The boy was quickly rising to another climax and it wouldn’t be much longer before Trowa followed him into oblivion.

He slipped his arms beneath the kid's body and tipped himself backwards, bringing the boy with him where he settled on top of Trowa’s chest with his legs splayed out on either side of his hips. He gripped the boy's ass, using the fleshy cheeks as leverage, and pushed his hips up into the tight, velvety heat. His prey’s head rested on his chest, drooling slightly onto the sweaty sinew of Trowa’s shoulder as he was fucked senseless, rubbing his cock with abandon over the ridges of Trowa’s belly.

“Dirty little whore,” Trowa rasped into the damp hair. “You’ve been waiting for this your whole life, haven’t you? Just dying for a capable man to come along and put you in your place. I have a feeling you’ve never even come across a real man before otherwise you would have been thrown down and fucked a dozen times already.”

The boy bleated, the sound weak and drawn out as his body twitched and then Trowa felt the flood of wetness pool over his belly. He never once faltered in his vigorous thrusts, pushing up into the boy’s convulsing heat and forcing his prey’s ass down onto his cock. The kid gurgled and shook, the agonizing press on his prostate too much sensation after his second orgasm. “S - st - sto -”

“I’m not done with you yet, you little slut.” He lunged forward, toppling the boy onto his back and turned the limp body over until he was sprawled on his belly. Trowa grabbed a few throw pillows and shoved them beneath the boy’s pelvis until his pert ass was up in the air. He pressed his face between the cheeks and licked into him, relishing in the sweet taste of his prey.

He lapped and suckled at the opening, loving the plaintive sound of the boy’s whimpers until his cock throbbed, reminding him of its need. He rose up, propped himself over the boy’s lax body, and pressed his cock back inside, ignoring the weakened protests of his prey. He fucked into him with sharp slaps of his hips, watching the erotic slide of his dick disappear into the glistening opening. His orgasm surged up, swift and powerful and he tipped his head back, an ear-shattering howl emerging from his throat, so loud that it cracked and shattered the only window in the room.

He emptied himself inside the boy, slowing his movements only when his cock stopped pulsing and then he dropped onto his prey’s sweaty back, huffing into the curls that wisped around the boy’s nape.

Awareness returned when he realized his teeth had extended into points again and he abruptly jerked his head away once he noticed they were closed around the side of the boy’s neck and ready to bite through.

_Kill him. You need to kill him. Do it now while he’s asleep and he’ll never know what happened. It’s the most merciful thing you can do for him._

_I - I can’t._

_You have to! He’s going to tattle once he gets home and then you’ll end up with the fucking calvary banging down your door. You know how the authorities feel about shapeshifters already. You just proved yourself the animal they always suspected you were. If you kill him now, he won’t be able to pick you out of a lineup, that is, if they don’t just shoot you on the spot._

He groaned and dropped his head on top of the boy’s, listening to the soft, even puffs of breath. He was dead to the world and if there was ever a chance to save his own ass, this was it.

But...he couldn’t do it. Fucking hell, he could not bring himself to kill him.

_Do it! Kill him! It’s your only chance!_

_I could keep him,_ he argued. _Make him my pet. He enjoyed it._

_And what happens if you forget yourself and accidentally kill him later?_

_That won’t happen._

_You think he’ll be willing to be your pet? Especially after what you did to his grandmother?_

_He doesn’t need to know that I killed her._

_Good God, are you listening to yourself? This is crazy talk!_

_I want him. I need him. I’m taking him with me._

_And then what? You’ll chain him to your bed? Force him into a life of sexual slavery?_

_I can make him want it._

_You’re nuts. You’re fucking insane. Mark my words, this will lead nowhere good and will likely end up with your head taxidermied and mounted on the sheriff’s wall._

_I’m taking him and that’s final. He’s mine. I’m going to make him want me._

_You can’t make anyone want you._

He shoved the voice of reason away, not wanting to hear anymore. This was the best option. Both for his own and for the boy’s protection because killing him was something Trowa could no longer consider.

This boy, this young man was a prize. A beautiful prize who would look positively breathtaking sprawled across his bed with black leather restraints cutting into his wrists and ankles, contrasting so exquisitely with his creamy skin.

It could work. He could make it work. Train the boy to obey. Trowa would be good to him, treat him right and before too long, he’d have this lovely specimen crawling on his hands and knees to please his master.

It wouldn’t be the first time a shapeshifter had taken on a pet. Duo had captured Heero nearly three years ago and that was still going strong. He knew how to break a pet, train him into obedience and loyalty. He would help Trowa do the same with this boy.

He shut away the part of himself that seethed and reminded him of how immoral and unethical this was, and climbed off the bed to retrieve his clothing from the living room where he’d left them. The boy’s clothes were torn beyond repair so Trowa simply wrapped him in the comforter after he’d dressed himself and then scooped the young man into his arms.

He grabbed the remains of the boy’s clothes and stuffed them into the picnic basket. He needed to remove all the evidence that either of them had been there. With the basket snug in the crook of his elbow and the boy safely in his arms, he carried him outside. They would be safe once they reached his home, a national reservation for shapeshifters which was governed by its own laws. There, they were untouched by government interference and rule. He would be protected there and in turn, he would keep the boy safe.

As he passed the chicken coop, he jotted down a mental note to come back for the hens. Alone with no one to feed and look after them, they would die and it was much more conducive to take them back to the community where they could be bred and their eggs and meat harvested.

He stopped short at the entrance of the forest, remembering that he’d forgotten the picture and turned to go back and fetch it.

_You’ve got the real thing right here, you dumb ass._

_Oh, yeah_. He grinned and looked down at the boy's sleeping face, so pretty, so peaceful. “I still don’t know your name, but I will soon. There’s nothing to worry about. You belong to me and I’ll look after you. I promise. Let me take you home.”

He tucked the end of the comforter beneath the boy’s chin and smiled as he carried his burden into the dense canopy of the forest with a cheerful spring in his step. He whistled a familiar tune from his childhood, the jovial, birdlike sound echoing off the surrounding trees.

_Who’s afraid of the big, bad wolf..._

 

 

_Fini._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, there it is. Maybe it'll be the beginning of a series if y'all like it enough. If not, then I'll just leave it be and call it a day. Thank you so much for reading and I'll see you next time! Hoping to update a couple WIP's that haven't been updated in a while so stay tuned. Love ya! *hugs*


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